


gone is your charm (now you're just a dirty boy)

by julieville



Category: Chronicle (2012), Dane Gang - Fandom
Genre: ???? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Teasing, a teeny tiny amount of dirty talk but, and andrew gets bit for once, hm, roughness?, the good stuff u kno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julieville/pseuds/julieville
Summary: with blood trickling down his neck, a boy with shaking knees utters nine little words:"come on, honey. there's no need to be good."





	gone is your charm (now you're just a dirty boy)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aisu10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aisu10/gifts).



> characters based on the characters from the dane gang, a roleplay group on tumblr dedicated to playing as the characters actor dane dehaan has portrayed.

julius is by no means a poet. words don’t scare him — if anything they’ve given him comfort when nothing else did — but mistaking him for any sort of _writer_ would be an insult to so many others. whitman, dylan, ginsberg, neruda… glancing across his room and onto his bookshelf, he cannot read any of the names on the backs of his books but he knows that poets from then and now take up at least two and a half of the six levels. not to mention that prose from kay and morrison and voltaire and steinbeck (to just mention a few) aren’t exactly collecting dust on the other shelves. words seep in through his blue irises and leave him through a red mouth dreaming of one day stretching wide in glee from hearing someone, anyone, mouth words that are beautiful and brutal enough to make roses tear their own petals off in heartbreak and let them fall to the floor to rot.

he tried once, like most people do. he sat down and rhymed ‘love’ with ‘dove’ and ‘butterflies’ with ‘summer skies’ and later, when he got older, ‘quivering breath’ with ‘civil death’. similes of flowers and summer littered every page of his twelve notebooks (still saved in his bottom drawer), telling stories of nymphs and mythologies and the pretty boy he saw hunched over a book and biting his nails in the back of the local library with his coat sliding down his shoulders and his curly hair shielding his eyes from the rest of the world. sometimes he wrote of love, sometimes he wrote of death, sometimes of family and sometimes, although rarely, of sex. somehow, he didn’t find sex beautiful enough to put into words more than a few times. he’s had so much it just blends together. sometimes he wishes that that wasn’t how it was, but incapable of changing, he lets it be. temporary fun is worth it, even if it doesn’t leave him giggling at night.

julius’ gaze leaves his bookshelf and falls back onto the book in his hands. two and a half hours of just sitting in his bed and he has not read more than a chapter. words jumble together, _seejanerunseejanerunseejanerun_ , and it’s impossible to not lift his eyes and let them drift elsewhere. doing so once again, he pulls the collar of his shirt over his lips, letting himself study the boy on the other side of the bed. the mattress is big enough for them not to touch, and while julius usually expects them not to graze each other at all, today is an exception. they have their feet pressed together, both of their legs bent to fit. julius has his bare toes against grey socks with black dots, cold and not very comforting, but at least he does not feel alone, despite this whole apartment being filled with people that share his blood. he does not need to settle on freezing feet, but he does so anyway.

andrew, on the other side of the bed, is staring at him just like he does most of the time whenever they meet up, whether it’s in a school bathroom, the forest behind julius’ house, behind the corner shop at the end of his street or just in his room. although they are not lovers he was still nice enough to visit him on his birthday. he didn’t bring a gift, but that’s alright. as far as julius knows he doesn’t have any money and judging by his “occupation”, he can’t really be labelled a giver to the world. if julius told anyone what he does to make days pass he’d be shooed so far away that julius never would see him again. he does not want that. no, andrew might not be generous to society, but he is generous to julius. _we both benefit,_ they agreed within the first month of seeing each other. andrew drinks his blood by piercing his skin, and julius can tell himself that he has a muse.

sometimes, julius even thinks of him as more than a muse. what he feels for him is greater than love. there is nothing romantic that ties them to one another, but it’s too perverted to be something brothers can share. what is one supposed to feel for a vampire, anyway? fear? hatred? julius isn’t scared, nor does he want him gone. he wants him closer, constantly. even when his fangs dig deep into his neck it doesn’t feel like it is enough. it is not healthy and julius should be afraid but andrew treats him like such a treasure, so what does he have to be scared of? nothing, and maybe that’s why it isn’t enough.

he’s thought of it a lot: having andrew hurt him. he can’t ask, but he’s unsure of whether he’d hurt him on purpose or not. they’ve had accidents, like the time julius drenched the floor with blood and almost passed out. or the time one of his brothers knocked on his door, making julius push andrew away, teeth still inside. they had ripped his throat open, andrew (in panic) closing the wound while julius yelled through the door that he was fine. in fact, they’ve had _countless_ things go wrong, and yet none of them have been on purpose. andrew has never been rough with him. even when julius once asked he did not pull his hair. he often leaves fingerprints on his waist and shoulders, but they fade within twenty-four hours. he doesn’t want to be abused (god, no), but maybe making his heart beat faster through consensual fear would profit them both. julius’ heart would beat faster and andrew would get more blood into his mouth.

andrew looks away, down on the psp he always wants to borrow when they’re just hanging out like this. the color julius gave his skin three days ago is fading, leaving him pale and grey. only the slightest of pink is on his knuckles and on his mouth and he looks so much like porcelain that julius’ almost afraid of touching him. he knows he’s not fragile, he’s stronger than anyone else even when he’s hungry, so julius is the stupid one to even consider the thought.

putting his book aside after shoving a piece of torn paper between the pages, julius leans forwards and wraps his arms around his knees. he looks at him and he doesn’t know if vampires have some kind of sixth sense, but andrew knows at once for he looks up at him through his lashes just half a second later.  
  
“what?” he asks.

“i was about to ask you the same thing.”  
  
andrew rarely rolls his eyes at him, but he does now. “you know why.”

as on cue, there’s a rumble from deep within the vampire’s stomach. it’s the sound of an angry animal screaming at the top of its lungs, and it makes julius’ toes curl. the act of biting his lower lip and digging his fingers into his flowery sheets gives permission for andrew to come closer without him even having to ask, as he’s quickly putting the console down and is crawling across the bed. taking a hold of his ankles is natural nowadays, julius sliding down until he’s lying between his legs and has andrew’s hands on his shoulders. while julius’ pupils are dilating at an extremely rapid pace, he knows that he’ll be underwhelmed today. maybe now when andrew’s hungry julius can actually play games with him. andrew comes closer without any sign of contemplating _games_ , though. if anything is going to happen, it’ll be julius that will have to do the dirty work.

tilting his head towards andrew’s approaching mouth, he hinders him from biting. feeling julius’ nose against his temple makes him sit up again. the strings from his hoodie dangles between them, so julius lightly twists one of them around his finger, holding him like the animal he knows he is under all of the teenage bullshit.  
  
“you gonna bite me?” he wonders, looking up at him while running the plastic end of the string over his smiling mouth. andrew’s brows furrow deep, staring. he’s confused, poor thing. he can’t blame him — why would his donor suddenly decline?

“... what else would i do?”

julius would normally say _“what would you like to do to me?”_ but it’s andrew that’s holding him down, not some horny boy in the backseat of a blue toyota. he’s not like that and it’s a stupid question because julius already knows what he wants to do with him. he alters his words. “... do you want to watch me bleed?”

it’s not visible, but there is a change in the way andrew holds him. his fingers tighten on his shoulders and look at that, his mouth is parting, if only a little. the second question was an obvious one too — _no, i don’t want it to spill_ — but it somehow excites andrew a ton more than the previous one.

“uh, yes,” he agrees. julius might explode.

“right here?”

scratching his fingernail over his neck, right where andrew usually bites him, he draws a bright pink line. then, when he feels his own breath tremble, he crosses another line over the first, marking the spot. andrew’s just staring at the x and julius’ having difficulties keeping quiet even though he’s not being touched, looking up at him with his almost invisible irises. listening closely, you can hear andrew’s breath get a lot rougher, too. it has happened once before. back then julius had found it funny. this is everything but that.

andrew dips down and julius wants to stop him to continue their little game, but having andrew’s mouth on him only makes him braid his fingers in andrew’s hair to shove him further into his skin. a helpless whimper from high in his throat accompanies the graze of his fangs and when julius breaks he almost drops the whole act. he does it momentarily, clinging to andrew’s body like a scared child to a parent, letting andrew hear what he does to him by choking out broken moans veiled by obvious _oh god, don’t stop_ s and _break me apart, break me apart_ s. when he feels andrew starting to go deeper he does pull himself together as good as he can, although he loathes every second. sliding his fingers between their heads and wrapping them around andrew’s forehead, he pushes hard enough for him to get the hint. julius can feel droplets of red run down his neck and onto his mattress now when andrew’s not there to catch them. it’s not a lot as he didn’t get deep enough to pierce any major veins, but he is dripping. 

it takes him multiple dreadfully long moments to gather himself enough to form words, andrew’s poor irritation only getting stronger underneath his cold skin. julius’ head lolls to the side and exposes his neck, his whole arm straining from keeping andrew away.

“you —” he starts, letting go of the hoodie string to keep the blood in with two of his fingers, “— you need to say please.”

andrew’s growl makes the whole bed vibrate. shivers harm julius’ spine and when he feels himself get shoved deeper into the sheets a lot more happens to his body than just simple quivers. even though he’s obviously breaking apart right underneath him there’s no “please” and definitely no “pretty please” coming from andrew’s red-tinted lips. julius stands his shaking ground, looking him dead in the eye and waits patiently, ready to let him go any second. however, andrew stares at the hand that keeps him from his meal. desperate situations calls for desperate measures, so julius keeps his fingers connected to his skin when he slowly removes them. he draws on his skin, painting his jaw in red. andrew struggles a lot harder the moment he sees his dinner so little julius, five foot two, sets both hands on his chest to give himself enough space to slide out from underneath him and onto the floor. andrew’s face collides with the mattress and julius’ head gets sandwiched between andrew’s grumbling stomach and the blanket. when he’s wiggled out there’s instantly a hand on his shirt trying to pull him back. resisting is hard but he ends up on the other side of the room nonetheless, standing by his dresser that’s scattered with papers and magazines and some of the jewelry that he occasionally wears. not to forget the dusty plastic orchid.

andrew’s still on the bed, a hand clasped around the bed frame and one foot on the floor. when julius looks at him he doesn’t necessarily see rage, but andrew isn’t very happy with him. if he wasn’t so hungry for blood he’d leave, julius’ sure (it’s happened before), so he feels himself get pleased with knowing that _he’s_ the reason he’s still here and not out the door.

unable to keep a smug grin off of his face, julius leans back against the bureau, fingers hooking into the drawers. people usually eye him up and down when he does this, but not andrew. no, see, andrew’s not like other boys. he won’t initiate kisses, he won’t initiate spontaneous touches. he’s a man of business in jeans and sneakers, so julius _knows_ andrew won’t come closer to _caress_ him. looking at him now, he’s a boy trying his best to confine himself. after all, as julius left, it’s a sign that he doesn’t want to and andrew’s a good boy. julius likes him a lot. he loves seeing him want to be closer and struggle to keep his morals in check. he is to be admired, judging by the way the hand on the bed frame trembles. maybe if he lets him wait just a while longer he’ll see it bend under his fingers?

“what is it?” he smiles, angling his head to the side, in turn spreading the wound and grants more blood to spill out. it burns and it runs like rain down a window to the collar of his t-shirt, staining the white fabric in red. “why don’t you come over?”

“stop it.”

julius pouts, now wishing that he had let the fangs dig deeper, making him bleed more. andrew won’t even come closer when he gives him permission. suddenly he’s the wolf and andrew’s the sheep, safe from harm and protected by a fence. two blues travel down andrew’s arm to the hand, studying it making the frame shake. julius can easily relate as watching it do so makes his knees do the same, his previous arousal working as fuel. he swallows when he feels a drop — a big drop — push itself out of one of the holes and slide down his collar bone. it follows it all the way down to his sternum and comes to a rest in the dent. a gasp fills the room, but who it came from is unclear. regardless, julius reaches his fingers to the wounds and locks eyes with andrew who doesn’t look away this time, and pinches the skin around them so that numerous beads comes out and releases a waterfall. most of them follow the same path down his clavicle the first one took, but the more blood collects the fuller the indent gets, spilling over. he pulls his shirt away from his body so the blood safely will wander down his chest. when he feels the drops gather around his bellybutton he lifts the hem so andrew can see. soon that is overflowing too, continuing down the rest of his tummy.

julius is throbbing, in desperate need of being felt up. it’s beyond desire at this point. now it’s an urgency of having a tongue on his body, a tongue to catch his blood. he’s wasting himself on stupid games that he strangely idolizes. andrew must be thinking similar thoughts. he’s staring at the spilling blood in fury. watching his food get wasted must be angering to no extent. julius’ lungs convulse when he opens his mouth to talk again, fingers cramping around the fabric of his shirt. breath catching in his throat, he has to talk quietly so his miserable voice won’t break.

“come on, honey,” he says, wanting to be absolutely torn apart. “there’s no need to be good.”

andrew flies onto him, a lioness on a helpless prey, and julius’ knees give in from simply seeing the sheer need in his blazing gaze. despite seeing the bedframe wobble with his own eyes the knowledge of andrew breaking him apart had flown right by his head. julius drops his shirt by the time andrew is reaching for his body. it gets stuck between them, julius’ tummy exposed against andrew’s shirt. he’s so cold and hollow (the most exciting part about the aftermath of all this is sliding his hand up andrew’s stomach to feel it bulge against his fingers) and julius whimpers.

andrew won’t meet his eyes when he tears his shirt right off of him. threads snap when his arms slide out of the sleeves. julius can’t even sort his hair out before andrew’s on his knees. reminded of other boys and girls that do the same, he finds himself get tingly. andrew’s mouth ends up in other places — on his tummy, his hip bones. his cold tongue moves away from where the others put it and yet julius shivers a lot more violently than anyone else can make him do. staring at him, julius presses his lips together. the blood gathers on andrew’s tongue like ice cream licked from the back of a spoon. julius doesn’t realize that he’s desperately holding onto andrew’s hair until his knuckles bump into his chin and drags across his cheek, andrew’s teeth now piercing into his skin once more, only deeper than before.

asking andrew to stop isn’t an option in any alternate universe so julius takes it upon himself to guide him over to his desk with his arms winding around his head to keep him still. with every step he takes the more the sensation of limbs falling asleep overwhelms him. he’s certainly confused by the time he’s lifted himself onto the tabletop, sitting on homework and notebooks. andrew wasn’t on top of him long enough in bed for his skin to start tingling, yet here we are. julius lifts his feet onto the edge of the desk.

when andrew has placed a hand on his forehead and shoved his head back against his framed _gone with the wind_ poster, he feels a stir in his vessels, and he realizes why he feels like this. andrew’s sucking too hard. he’s bringing the walls of his veins with him — similar to what a juice box does when it’s close to being empty but you just can’t pull your mouth away from the straw. the thought, along with a greedy grind into andrew’s belly, makes julius’ eyes roll far back in his head. by doing so his eyelashes brush against andrew’s palm and julius tilts his head enough for his mouth to reach his wrist.

andrew doesn’t react when julius runs his lips over a small patch of skin. he’s never bitten him back before, much less marked him. andrew hasn’t really marked him before either as he’s always careful with covering up his tracks (much to julius’ dismay). they discussed it once, briefly, when andrew was about to leave.  
  
_“how come you always keep your hands on me when we’re around other people?”_ he asked with his elbows on the windowsill. andrew halted his climb down the drain pipe.

 _“because you’re mine.”_ julius had hid his blushing cheeks behind his pale fingers.  
  
_“why not just mark me? then people would know.”_ andrew had watched him for a second with his rosy cheeks. knowing that it was he that made it possible for him to blush, julius had hidden his mouth, too.  
_  
_ _“sometime, maybe,”_ was all he had said and they both fell into silence until julius leaned out to press a goodbye kiss to his forehead. and that had been it. now multiple weeks has passed, and andrew still refuses to claim him. maybe keeping him away from his food won’t cut it. maybe playing andrew’s own game is.

julius angles his head as good as he can and digs his teeth into the fragile skin on andrew’s wrist. immediately andrew leans away and lets him go, his drowsiness making him stumble and sit down. obviously dazed and bewildered, he looks down at the marks julius’ teeth made. it’s quickly becoming red and blue, the fast rush of new blood in his veins doing its best to behave like it would inside of julius. andrew stares up at him and julius looks at him from between his parted thighs.

dizziness is prominent inside of his poor head, making the boy on the floor slightly blurry. blood is dripping down andrew’s chin and onto the floor. his fingers doesn’t move to gather it, like they usually do. he seems scared, somehow. a bubbly (although tired) giggle exits julius’ mouth when he slides onto the ground and crawls closer. andrew momentarily leans away. julius can’t blame him. real dogs get confused when their owner licks it back. why would it be any different with andrew, an animal trapped inside the body of a human boy? why would he think of it as a game when julius all of a sudden has questioned his position as the head of their relationship? claimed him as his own? (although julius absolutely adores the thought of andrew belonging to him and only him, it can never be. he’s never met his other bloodletters, but goddamn, is he not jealous.)

“you’re such a doll,” julius giggles when he wraps himself around the scared puppy, holding his cheeks with his thumbs scooping his own blood up from andrew’s chin. andrew’s daze doesn’t falter when julius gently dips one of his thumb between his teeth and wipes it clean on his tongue. a small peck on his lips accompanies his second red finger, and then julius has to tilt his head to the side to expose his neck to him once again. “close me, please.”

“you bit me.”

his voice his slurry and poor bleeding julius has to grab him to the back of his head to make him come closer, holding his mouth still against his gaping wounds until he can feel the slight tingle of them closing. andrew’s trembling against him, hiccuping into his skin. julius turns to press his lips to his cheek.

“did it scare you?”

he shakes his head and julius can see out of the corner of his eye that he’s looking at his wrist. after a short struggle of tangled legs and arms, julius sits with his ear to andrew’s beating heart and with andrew’s hand in his. andrew’s looking too, although in heavy silence, dozing off with his forehead to julius’ temple. julius is lightly scratching his nails over the bruise and the little dents when andrew’s chest starts echoing with soft snores, a light whiff of air hitting his ear.

andrew’s fingers twitch lightly in his sleep, and julius stops them by closing his own around them. by doing so he makes his tendons jut out underneath his skin. pressing his teeth to them makes andrew stir, but he doesn’t wake up. if anything he only presses closer, subconsciously making julius slide closer by shifting his legs. julius will probably never do it again, but taking on andrew’s role — if only for a moment — makes his breath hitch. he sits there, nibbling, and watches their shared blood make andrew’s skin shift in pink and red.  
  
julius is no poe, and he is no hemingway. he sometimes has difficulty finding words and he says the wrong thing more often than he says the right one. but he understands andrew. they talk to each other through bruised skin and colors. pulling his teeth away from his wrist, julius sees paint instead of words. he doesn’t see shakespeare’s sonnets, but he sees the shifting water underneath monet’s waterlilies. perhaps that is better. after all, a picture says more than a thousand words.


End file.
